


In which Hawkeye does not put his bodyparts in the right places

by coffee_mage



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 06:25:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2762984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffee_mage/pseuds/coffee_mage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson may actually be the first person Clint has ever slept with who hasn't yet tried to kill him.</p><p>(From prompt "Teacher, France, Protocol, contain, notice Clint/Coulson")</p>
            </blockquote>





	In which Hawkeye does not put his bodyparts in the right places

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, not my best work, but I thought someone out there might enjoy.
> 
> My personal headcanon is that, somewhere in SHIELD's files, Nick Fury has written "Protocol for suspected double agents: Throw Hawkeye at them. If he puts his dick in it, detain IMMEDIATELY!"

"Barton, feet off the table," Phil said, bringing out two bowls of soup and standing to wait.

"But I just got comfy," Clint replied, looking up at him.

"You'd be far more comfortable if you took your boots off and put your feet on the couch rather than scratching the coffee table with them." Phil tried to look severe, but there was a faint hint of amusement around his eyes that Clint couldn't help but notice.

"Oh, I would, would I?" Clint leered a little. 

"So much more comfortable. Especially if you changed your socks so I didn't have to smell your feet and possibly torch them to get the smell out of the upholstery." Phil would have crossed his arms, but soup. Two enormous bowls of chicken soup made it hard for him to look severe.

"You know, when you set fire to something, it spreads the smell, not gets rid of it. There was this one time, in the circus, where some idiot in a town council passed some stupid rule saying that we had to pay for the removal of the horse shit. Matty got the bright idea we should spread it all out in the sun for an afternoon while we packed up and set fire to it before we left, cause there was only rules about animal waste, not rules about ash. Biggest mistake. Our stuff reeked of shit for weeks."

Phil improved the power of his unimpressed face. "Do you remember France?" he asked mildly.

"Which time? There was the time with the pickles and there was the time with the dress and there was the time with the--"

"Finishing school."

Clint's eyes widened. "You wouldn't."

"Madame Brousseau considers you one of her roughest, most unfinished works, she'd be very happy to get her hands on you again to complete, how did she put it, the sculpting of your outer being to match the kind, gentle soul within." Phil managed to stay deadpan, though it was a battle. 

"I thought she wanted to set fire to my pubic hair after I slept with one of her teachers, the nice guy with the curls."

"No she didn't."

"I'm pretty sure that's what she said. I can't be totally sure, because my French is only so-so and he knocked one of my hearing aids out with the blindfold while he was fucking me, but--"

"Clint. As much as your sexcapades before we got together are amusing, I'm not sure that bringing up the fact that you slept with the only person in that entire school who was both a double operative and trying to kill you, personally, for your crimes against his family is really the best way to convince me that your judgement of where to put your body parts is actually in any way solid."

"Okay, so that was one time. One, Phil."

"And what happened when we got back stateside and made that attempt in Georgia to improve your manners for undercover work?"

"I proved I was incredibly good at working under the covers." Clint smiled smugly.

"And got shot in the neck by the woman with whom you decided to demonstrate that."

"Well she insulted Natasha, first. I would've finished it, but who has a gun in their condom box? Dammit, that was just dirty fucking pool."

Phil stared at him, completely unimpressed. "You have approximately fifteen seconds to get your feet off the table, or I go to the kitchen and eat my soup alone and toss yours down the garbage disposal."

"You wouldn't starve me," Clint protested, looking up at Phil through his eyelashes. "It'd be mean. Cruel, even."

"Eleven. Ten. Nine. Eight."

"All right, all right, jeez." Clint shifted, getting his boots off the coffee table. "Way too many rules for where my feet can and can't go, you know that?" he grumbled.

"How many standard points were on the protocols for range access reinstatement?" Phil asked, setting down the soup.

"Thirty five," Clint responded promptly.

"And you've still got every one of them memorized." 

"Well yeah, those were important."

"So is not putting your feet where you eat. It's two rules. Not on upholstery, not on eating surfaces."

"Or your desk."

"Or my desk when I am actively doing paperwork and your boots are dripping."

"You hate paperwork. I was helping by giving you an excuse to put it off." Clint leaned forward to slurp up a mouthful of soup.

"That was the opposite of helping. The exact opposite."

"It got you laid in the end, it was definitely helping."

Phil had to take a moment to swallow before he could respond. "And then the sirens started going off and I had to coordinate a major drill with my shorts full of congealed semen."

Clint squinted. "Really? That was that time?"

"Yes." 

"No, I'm pretty sure the wet boots thing was the time that you and I were getting busy and then Fury walked in."

"No, that came later. That was the seventh and last time we attempted sex on SHIELD property."

Clint was quiet for a moment, gobbling down some soup, then nodded. "Well it turned out to be a good thing you made that rule. I'd hate for some Hydra guy to have walked in on us."

"Yes, that would have been so much worse than my boss taking me to his office after watching me tuck myself back into my pants and giving me a very stern lecture on abstinence and its values in the spy community."

"I'm pretty sure Nick was just fucking with you."

Phil huffed a little laugh. "Of course he was. That didn't make it less mortifying."

"Oh please, like your boss telling you the value of abstinence is at all mortifying."

Phil eyed him. "You know, you actually won me one of the longest running bets in SHIELD history when you settled down with me."

"Did not. You never offered me a cut."

"Did so. I just figured after the amount of time I'd spent finding you pants while you ran from people trying to kill you, you owed me."

"Then what was the bet?"

"Whether or not your secret mutant power was only having sex with people who were eventually going to try to kill you."

"Oh you knew that wasn't true! I slept with Natasha for a year."

"And she's tried to kill you how many times?"

"Well she didn't really mean it."

Phil responded with a raised eyebrow as he ate.

"Okay, well, she sort of did, but if she'd really, really meant it, I'd be dead. Plus, I'm not a mutant."

Phil smiled sweetly. "Well I know that, your doctor knows that and you know that, but not everyone else believes that. I made almost six grand. Bought one of Cap's old war sketches at auction."

"You're terrible."

"Just as bad as you." Phil leaned over to gently bump Clint's shoulder with his.

Clint looked up at him from where he was hunched over his soup bowl and grinned. "You just have a thing for bad boys."

"Mmm, it's possible."


End file.
